The Honey Badger Complex
by mariposademuerte
Summary: Sherlock Holmes works better alone but his annoying brother must always ruin his peace. Mycroft has now employed an American agent to babysit Sherlock. A woman that relies solely upon archaic instinct instead of triumphing and unequivocal logic. Sherlock already had the simple minded doctor, but two simpletons might turn Sherlock into an actual sociopath. (Mature for sexiness) OC
1. Miel

"Agent Nicole Miel" a voice called from the dark room. The fireplace in the cozy mansion parlor highlighted the aging face of Mycroft Holmes. His posh calm face was soiled by the scowl of disdain. "Please come forward and have a seat." I moved silently from the doorway and sat in the ornate red and gold chair across from the slender man. "As you know, you have been brought from America for a classified mission."

"Yes, sir."

"Good, this is the file with everything you need to know." He handed me a large manila folder with an address typed neatly in the corner. "Your mission is to guard the person of interest until further notice. You start immediately"

The heavy parcel in my hand was filled to capacity with papers and newspaper clippings spilling from the side. The rubber band binding it together was pale from overextension. This man must be very busy with a folder this large.

"If I may, sir." I asked courteously and he nodded his consent, "Whom must I watch out for? Gangs? Hit men?"

"The threat could be anyone. Not many people call him friend, but he has made many his enemy. You will see he has certain traits that many find unnerving and annoying. You must keep a level head with him, Agent Miel because if you have a tick, he will find it." Mr. Holmes's thin fingers laced in front of his face creating a dramatic foreboding shadow along his hollowed face. "He has no regard for social standard or emotion. He is egotistical, arrogant, and a masochist who will use anything and anyone to prove his intellect."

My brow furrowed in thought. What man could be so horrible that the government wanted to protect instead of terminate? Why did England hire an American female agent to protect this man, when there were stronger, fiercer individuals within Scotland Yard? I didn't doubt my capabilities but paying for a ticket from America to England and the costs of accommodation were not cheap. My intuition knew they were suppressing information and it bothered my thought process, but the government is always shrouded in secrecy so an explanation was not likely. I stared at the thickly bound manila folder in my hands, and looked into Mr. Holmes's steel eyes.

"Who is this man?"

A small smirk flitted across Mycroft's long face as he leaned into his hands. His legs crossed and with a small sense of pride he calmly said

"My brother."


	2. Novum

Babysitting?! They brought me all the way from America to babysit a grown man and his banging partner? The nerve! He isn't even part of the government apart from relation to the pompous ass who employed me. A common day citizen and an ex-soldier doctor. Fantastic. Might as well boil my whole career into this pivotal moment where I am contracted to follow around an OCD sociopath with no crime record.

I huffed down the street from Scotland Yard trying to blow off some anger. The afternoon was dreary and gray much like my attitude. The people walking adversely scattered to not get run over as I powerwalked to the domain of said sociopath. It was a two and a half mile walk and a taxi would be faster but a stroll would help calm the fiery rage seething in my body. The manila folder in my left arm was heavy against my side. The contents even heavier. There were newspaper clippings about the famous consulting detective by the name of Sherlock Holmes and his lackey blogger Dr. John Watson. His expertise in deductive reasoning made him a few fans but from the rumors circling Scotland Yard, royally pissed of many detectives including several working with him. Other contents such as landlady, people of interest, and recent activities were also logged on very official looking papers with pictures included. Don't want to walk in blind.

Two miles later, although still smoldering a tad, I grabbed a coffee and three teas from a cute little café called the Apostrophe. If I was going to invade someone's privacy in the sake of government, the least I could do was buy beverages to sweeten the deal. Mrs. Hudson and Dr. Watson were going to be easy to appeal. They were simple-minded folk and easy to appease. A little bit of sweet talk and open body language will gain their trust. Plus I bought tea, and Brits love tea. Mr. Holmes junior however was going to be difficult. From the file and his brother, I could tell he hated people following him around or even breathing his air. He hated boring people and my only plan of action so far was to not be boring. But how does one do that? With his deductive reasoning and obviously genius observation skills, I might as well be an open book for him. Or so he would think. We all have secrets, but as an agent for the United States, I could mask anything I wanted and be whoever I wanted to be. Maybe this is all a test of my training and once he's deduced nothing, I can go back home with a stamp of approval. Sighing, I gave up that fantasy and trudged on.

As I continued on my way, I sipped my first coffee in England. Careful of the scalding temperature, I lightly poured the promised paradise in my mouth and promptly spit it out. Coffee, a main staple in American society, and these Brits couldn't make a decent cup? This tasted like dirt and diesel. Gagging, I threw it in the closest trashcan. This was going to be a long mission. I couldn't have been contracted in Italy, Spain or France where they have the same appreciation of coffee as the caffeinated minds of the world? Damn the English and their love of tea. So bland and watered down. I shudder at the thought. No wonder the Boston Tea Party happened, Americans finally realized how much tea sucked. I chuckled, simply thinking "'Merica".

Smiling, I continued my way with the three teas and a manila folder, and happened upon my destination. The quaint apartment was adorable with its framed black door. Mrs. Hudson must be proud. I scanned the building. Six windows in the front. Two on the street side were easily accessible, and the rest within climbing distance. They had turning locks, which were easy to open, and the second floor right window wasn't even locked. The door had one dead bolt lock and looked standard which meant it could be knocked down easily. The drain pipe on the right most corner provided leverage to the roof, and brick always served for good traction. In short, this was an assassin's wet dream and I hadn't even seen the back. I sighed knowing I had my work cut out for me. On top of babysitting a grown man of no importance except for his relation, I had to work around this death trap known as 221B Baker Street.

Accepting my fate, I walked across the street and knocked on the dark door. From within I could hear voices on the second floor above me, and a flustered voice from behind the door. The door opened from the inside and I quickly painted a simple smile on my face and lifted my eyebrows in a non-threatening expression of peace and innocence. A short woman of around sixty opened the door with one hand while trying to fix her curling gray hair with another.

"Oh!" she exclaimed surprised, "What can I do for you love?" Her kind face burrowed in confusion. Obviously, she was not expecting anyone, much less a woman in a black pantsuit with three to-go cups of tea.

"Hello. Mrs. Hudson, right?" I inquired.

"Oh an American! We don't get much of your lot here!" she stated excitedly. "Yes, yes! That's me! What can I help you with?"

"If I could, may I speak with one of your tenants Sherlock Homes?"

"Sherlock?" Once again her face contorted with confusion. "What could a pretty girl like yourself want with Sherlock? Is he trouble again? Dear me, that man does have many people over." Her mumblings continued until she looked at me again and said "Right. How rude of me. Please come in dear!" She sidestepped behind the door and opened it wide.

As I entered the house I did a quick look over. Stairs were directly in front of the stair and a hallway extended parallel to the right. Presumably the apartment down the hallway was Mrs. Hudson's while the two men of the manila folder occupied the apartment upstairs. There was an umbrella stand to my right filled with random objects. Nothing dangerous. The layout was feasible to work with. The voices from before had quieted and the house was silent.

"Boys!" a shrill cry came from the frail Mrs. Hudson's mouth. " You have a visitor!" She smiled at me and hurried up the stairs. I followed behind her quietly and walked through the door Mrs. Hudson disappeared into.

Upon entering, my senses were overwhelmed by the smell of chemicals and something decaying. The room was a disaster. Books laid on every possible surface. There were glasses, mugs, old plates, and an odd skull scattered about the room. Not to mention take-out boxes lying on top of everything else. Great. I left America and its amazing coffee to take care of this loony bin. Please God, don't be hoarders. I can't deal with finding dead animals crushed by the sheer amount of crap in this room. The overwhelming status of the room blinded me to the man who rose to greet me. His shorter stature and graying hair was a dead set for his identity. He stood straight like a good military man and extended a hand towards me. I placed the manila folder under the arm holding the teas and shook his hand firmly.

"Agent Nicole Miel. You're Dr. Watson, I presume."

His eyes widened a bit and he stuttered a yes, and turned to the slouching figure hovering over a laptop. The tall man was searching the screen of the laptop meticulously. His curling brown hair hung like a mop upon his head. His long face was strained with concentration. Eyes as clear as the blue sky. Well, America blue, not England grey. Watson shifted uncomfortably.

"Sherlock?" he asked. "Someone's here. Aren't you going to acknowledge her?"

Without looking up from the laptop, Mr. Holmes sighed. "American. Female. Government worker. Probably Mycroft's doing" he simply stated calmly. "Boring."

My eyebrow cocked involuntarily. "Oh, I see. You're performing. What did your brother call it? I think he said it was a 'deducing fetish'." I shrugged my shoulders smiling at Dr. Watson who was looking more and more uncomfortable by the second. "Shame it won't work. Sorry Mr. Holmes but your stuck with me. I have been assigned by your omnipotent" I rolled my eyes here, "brother, to protect you, or in better terms, stop you from getting yourself killed."

With that, Sherlock turned in his chair and stared me down. I stared back unflinchingly as he analyzed me. I could tell his mind was working furiously on how to offend me enough to get me to leave. He was unhappy and you could tell by the grimace gracing his long features. His face was quite handsome. Good English boy look. As the stare-down continued, Mrs. Hudson and Dr. Watson looked hesitantly at each other. They were both uncomfortable by the situation and looking for a way out.

"Well I'll make a fresh pot of tea for you." She scrambled to get out of the apartment before I stopped her.

"Nonsense." I claimed pointing to the teas in cardboard holder in my hand. "I was walking by a café earlier and bought these for you as a peace treaty of sorts. I know this is a little bit of an invasion of privacy, but I'm going to try and make this as easy as possible without interrupting your daily lies whilst performing my job at the same time." I handed one to Mrs. Hudson, and two to Dr. Watson to give to the still stoic Mr. Holmes. John placed it on the desk by the laptop and hesitantly brought the cup to his lips. "Don't worry. It's not poisoned." I commented rolling my eyes. Mrs. Hudson gladly started drinking and gleefully commented that wild berry tea was her favorite. Dr. Watson also began drinking his slowly while switching his gaze from Mr. Holmes and me.

"Fine." Mr. Holmes said finally, startling both Mrs. Hudson and Dr. Watson. He turned back to the computer and continued to type.

Dr. Watson nearly choked on his tea. "Fine? That's all you're going to say? No analyzing? No embarrassment?"

"Simple, John." Mr. Holmes paused and looked at him. "Mycroft certainly has gone out of his way to procure Mrs. Miel. She said it herself; she will not be in our way. Plus, this might be what it takes for Mycroft, the insufferable man, to leave me alone." Mr. Holmes then turned towards me. "You didn't bring luggage so I'm suspecting a short visit."

"Actually, it was not specified or disclosed to me. Your brother is playing this one close to the chest so not much was given to me except your names address and recent activities." I faced Dr. Watson. "Lovely blog by the way." He blushed and looked at his shoes.

Mrs. Hudson, feeling left out, suddenly exclaimed "Staying! Oh well you must use the empty room upstairs! I was meaning to rent it out but it so hard to sell a single room, and with this lot, nearly impossible. It's right by John's room. Oh, you'll love it!" she continued babbling while continuing to the third floor.

The room became suddenly silent except for the typing on laptop. I turned to Dr. Watson feeling as though to make my job easier, befriending him would be best. "Thank you Dr. Watson for making this so easy for me. I sincerely appreciate it." I sent him a wide smile.

"Please, call me John. Dr. Watson sounds so formal." He said fidgeting with his cup.

"As long as you call me Nicole." I countered smiling. He smiled at me. Slowly I could feel him trust me. "Well, I have to gather my things. I will see you this evening." I slowly made my way to the stairs. "Thank you once again, John." I smiled at him, and then looked to the tall man in the room. "Mr. Holmes." He didn't move or acknowledge what I said. His tea cooling slowly untouched. John looked apologetically and shrugged his shoulders. I just laughed at his childish antics and made my way down the stairs to hail a taxi.

Oh this was going to be easy. Too easy.

* * *

Hello all!

Thank you for reading :) I know it sounds very harsh against the British but don't worry! I love the English (maybe a little more that I should) and an avid tea drinker. Have no fear. Our little agent is a proud American and newly landed in England, so her manners will change. Anyways, I am trying to keep this story as geographically honest a possible so all the stores and cafes I mention are real and the length of travel just as real too.

Feel free to review:). Good and bad appreciated!

-Posa


	3. Furore

Before I start, I wanted to warn you I switched to 3rd person because I realized that for it to develop the way I want it to , I would have to get perspectives from John and Sherlock. I know its unprofessional, I'm sorry:(. Anyways, thanks for reading!

* * *

Sherlock was angry. John could feel the overwhelming fury in the atmosphere as Sherlock continued to forcibly type on the computer. John knew that he should remain silent but of course his curiosity always got the better of him. He wanted to know why Sherlock, the most socially unaware person he had ever met, let an intruder sent by his brother waltz out the front door without any emotional scarring or harsh tongue-lashing. It was very uncharacteristic of him not to say whatever was on his mind, and Sherlock's mind was never quiet.

"John, will you stop thinking? It is hindering my case search." He muttered annoyed. "Speaking of cases. Lestrade hasn't called in four days. How odd."

"Maybe they don't have any murders they need help on." John commented hopefully.

Sherlock let out a scoff as he shut the laptop close. He stood up suddenly and stalked to his black coat and scarf by the door. "That would imply their minute brains could actually process information and evidence, which you know as well as I, they can't" He then trampled down the stairs.

"Where are you off to?" John called down the stairwell.

"Morgue" was the only reply he got while the door slammed closed.

"Fine," John thought "he could take his anger out on the corpses all he liked. At least he won't be home while our female visitor moved in." John rolled his eyes and slumped into the comfy armchair to read the newspaper. "What a tantrum. Better get the peace and quiet while I can."

* * *

The morning sun was just peaking over the horizon when a screeching sound vibrated from the second floor. A violin by the awful sound of it. Shrieking notes and the erratic beat replaced the beautiful sound the violin usually made. The player, whoever it was, played loud and fast, pouring annoyance into the strings. The whole of 221B Baker Street oscillated to the wailing, and whoever was playing was going to die.

Jet-lagged and exhausted, Nicole was ready for murder. She had a license to kill in a hundred and ten countries and England just happened to be on the list. Her conscious darkly dared the violinist to make her day and continue playing, and they complied noisily. Trying to drown out the sound of the dying instrument, Nicole stuffed her down pillow over her head. The noise continued to violate her eardrums and she groaned in defeat. This HAS to be one of the people she was bound to protect and killing them was a sure fire way to see her career flushed down the drain. At this point, she almost didn't care. The clock situated on the nightstand glared back seven forty-five in red-hot numbers. That means it's three forty-five in the States, and death o'clock here in this flat.

An amused chuckle came from the door way as Nicole turned to see the intruder. John stood with his coffee and robe. "Mmm, coffee" was all that entered Nicole's head as the scent wafted into her senses. It even smelled like a decent cup. The man looked at her with an amused smirk as he saw the deathly glare marring the pretty brunettes face. The poor girl had no idea what she was getting herself into and John almost felt sorry for her. Having been in the situation before, John felt a weird connection to the frustration of the other flat-mate.

"He's mad at you, you know" John said with a grin. " 'Soiling his sanctuary with Mycroft's intentions' I think were his exact words last night."

Nicole groaned. "This isn't going to be an easy case, is it?"

"That is up to you." John remarked as he walked down the stairs as he called "Coffee is in the pot!"

Coffee was just what Nicole needed. Although destruction was not usually her forte, she would not blink twice while shooting that damnable violin straight to high heaven. Coffee would bring sense and moral compass to her fumbling, dark mind.

Nicole physically rolled out of bed onto the floor and prepared to get dressed. Her bags were still packed in the corner and just thinking of unpacking right now made her tired. She carefully opened one and pulled out a shirt and some khaki shorts, successfully destroying any semblance of organization in the suitcase. Sighing she just closed the case and kicked it to the side for later. Pulling on a sports bra and white v-neck, Nicole tried to get rid of the headache the noise down stairs was creating. Unsuccessful, she put on a happy face and descended into the living room.

Sherlock stood by the window cradling Satan's instrument in his hand while feverously striking the violin with the bow in his other. He had an intense unseeing look on his face. Nicole passed him covering her ears at the sheer volume and grabbed the cup of straight black coffee. Just the way she liked it. She looked curiously at John and pointed with her eyes at Sherlock. He shook his head at any attempt for her to stop his manic playing. "I'm going to need earmuffs just to live in this place" Nicole thought.

Just as abruptly as it started, it ended. Sherlock put the violin down robotically and huffed into his chair.

"Beautiful as always." John said sarcastically.

"Are you over your tantrum yet?" Nicole asked pointedly. "I think you woke up half of Baker Street." Sherlock stared at her intensely. His eyes were roaming her, analyzing her. If Nicole didn't know his "profession", she would have been insulted, but this was something she was just going to deal with. "Mr. Holmes…"

"I detest Mr. Holmes. If we are to live in the same flat I insist that you call me Sherlock. It's such a waste of air." He interrupted.

"Fine, Sherlock" she corrected herself, ignoring the rude interruption. "I'm surprised." She paused for effect. "I thought you were the great Sherlock Holmes. The one that could figure out a person in just few seconds from their appearance, and yet here I stand. Undeducted." She smirked. "Could you not figure me out grand Sherlock?" John saw her eyes light up with playfulness and curiosity. "Tell me what you think and we will see what you get right and wrong."

At this moment John chimed in. "Nicole." He said timidly. "I don't think that's a good idea. Most people don't like what they hear and if you're going to be living with us, perhaps murderous intent would be counter-productive." John was trying to defuse the situation. This could get out of hand fast and he was sure that Sherlock could not fend himself against the fury of this American.

"No John," said Sherlock suddenly, "if the agent wants to know what I've deduced then I must comply." He sneered at the two in arrogance.

"Plus" Nicole chimed, "I've probably been called worse." She smiled at John, which was meant to ease him mind, but only made him tense in anxiety. She knew what she was doing. He turned to Sherlock and shot him a warning look. Sherlock just smiled at him before turning his eyes on the female.

"American obviously. South if I had to guess regionally." Sherlock began. "Yesterday you came in a pant suit, but wore no make up and tied your hair up which means you are a female government official but rely on androgyny to keep you on even playing field with your male counterpart. You stature much like John reflects a military background. So military training, then you were recruited by an agency." He said pointing out the similarities in John and Nicole. They looked at each other in regard but soon returned their attention to Sherlock. "Your hands are calloused so you work with your hands but are also a fighter. From the contouring of your biceps, I believe its boxing." Nicole look mildly impressed. "You're an only child, and have a mild case of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder pertaining to organization. You're left handed." Sherlock rounded off his deductive monologue "Finally, you've hired by Mycroft to report on me. You hate the idea and frankly I would be just as glad to see you go." Sherlock sat back smugly. John waited for the war to begin.

Nicole smiled and hid a small laugh while she sipped her coffee. She turned towards the doorway to the stairs and only remarked "Interesting." with a knowing smile.

John looked towards the bewildered Sherlock and almost laughed as well. She's got him right where she wants him. Sherlock lived upon praise and recognition, and the fact that the woman living under their roof had neither approved nor denied anything he just said was brilliant. Sherlock had to know, and she just insured her stay here by saying nothing. Witty woman. John liked her already. He needed an ally to battle wits with the omnipotent Sherlock Holmes, and he just found her.

* * *

It was late, but Nicole needed her fix. A new country meant making new friends. She was sure John and Sherlock could protect themselves for a few hours at night. The doctor had already retired for the night, and Sherlock remained in the living room sulking. She had given herself a trump card this morning and he knew it. She felt powerful and she needed to grasp the feeling and apply it. She needed what she craved. She was going to find it.

She packed a bag and headed down the stairs. Sherlock was sitting in clear view on the sofa looking dismal. She smirked knowingly and continued down the stairs past the second floor. Sherlock looked after her curiously but said nothing. She continued out the door and hailed the first taxi. "West Street and Litchfield Street" she said to the taxi driver. He nodded and continued on his way. In the back she prepared herself. She needed to look the part to be the part. She put on her disguise, her new face, and took off her top clothing. She looked ready to kill and paramount. As she pulled up to her destination, she paid the taxi driver and continued on foot.

The night had just begun.

* * *

I just want to thank TheGirlWhoImagined and a Guest (?) for reviewing! It makes my day!

I hope you all enjoyed! Follow and favorite to see the future installments and what Nicole is up to ;).

Reviews are always appreciated!

~Posa


	4. Periculum

The last few days at Baker Street had been uneventful. Sherlock remained forever irritated in his boredom and John unsuccessfully tried to distract him with conversation and hopeful cases from his blog. Nicole found the doctor and his flat mate surprisingly easy to handle. She rarely had to leave the house and just read books to past the time. The off hand comments and incessant inquires about herself were the only annoyance of the job. She counted herself lucky. This was a much-needed vacation from her last job. Foreign ambassadors were so fickle.

Sherlock, already annoyed, was even more irate with the silent and conniving American agent. Not only was he utterly bored; he was reminded of his brother's constant supervision present in his home. This American had the audacity to make herself comfortable in his abode whilst supposedly protecting him. To top it, she kept disappearing on sporadic nights only to show back up at dawn. He tried following her but each night led to another random street with bars and clubs. She also disappeared before he could follow her farther. She was hiding something. Sherlock just begrudgingly couldn't figure it out. She always smelled sterile and clinical when she returned; never bring the scents of her rendezvous. Other than his frustration with a certain female, his attentions also steered toward his cunning brother. What was Mycroft's motivation? His brother had always, thankfully, been sparse except for the occasional lecture or short visit, but now he had employed a foreign woman to spy on him. The motive was unknown and the result bothersome. Sherlock had half the mind to call his brother, but that would violate the "holidays only" rule in place and Lord forbid the men talk civilly.

Cheerily, John sat at his desk typing the latest adventure of Sherlock Holmes consulting detective. He was trying to find the proper wording when an email popped on his screen. The word CONFIDENTIAL written in the subject header. John almost dismissed it for spam but noticed the word "Jaria" and "diamond".

"Sherlock?" he called across the room. "I think I may have found you a case." Happy for a distraction, Sherlock nearly ran to John's side. The word confidential almost made him grin. Finally a case that may be worth his time. He briefly read over the email before telling John to reply with an affirmative yes. Sherlock began pacing.

"Ah yes, the Jaria Diamond." He smirked and looked at the American expecting an inquiry. Nicole just raised an eyebrow and kept reading her book disinterested. This irritated him and he continued to make his point. " Uncovered in the coal mines of Jharia, India. Also, it is a relative of the Koh-i-Noor found in our dear Queen's crown. A large diamond passed though generations of a prestigious Sikh family living in Jharkhand. Suddenly, it's gone amiss. Family debt? No, such a revered family would never give up their prized legacy for something as frivolous as money. Secondly, the family is extremely wealthy, so hypothesis denied."

John tried to keep up with the incessant rattling of his friend. "Maybe it was stolen?"

"That would be the next course of thought. Who would have the motivation to steal the Jaria diamond? Black market? Precious pieces collector? John, this calls for research!" Sherlock exclaimed as he rushed to the coat rack by the door.

The instant he grabbed his coat, a hand grabbed his bicep and broke his train of thought. Sherlock followed the toned arm up to the amused agent. "Hold your horses, Mr. Holmes." How fast was this woman? Sherlock glanced at her bewildered. No one had ever tried to stop him before. Most just stood out of his way. "I think you can do all the research on the computer. If we are leaving, let me put some shoes on." Sherlock stared at Nicole. "Yes, I mean we as in you, me and the good doctor." She smiled at the doctor who sat wide-eyed in his computer chair. Nicole allowed his mind to catch up.

"I'm good." Said John finally. He knew that Sherlock was in one of his mindsets and one or both of them were bound to be separated. Sherlock was sometimes as scatter-brained as the simpletons he so despised. He was just going to leave it to Nicole to keep him out of trouble. He almost smiled at the possibility of a quiet afternoon.

"Alright then." Nicole smiled. "Wait a second will you Sherlock?"

"I don't need a babysitter. I am a grown man and perfectly capable of protecting myself" Sherlock answered defiantly.

"Well, that's to bad, darlin'." She commented as-matter-of-factly. " Your fancy-pants brother hired me to keep you alive, and your death within the first two weeks will end my career instantly." She moved to slip on the Keds she had by the door. Sherlock pouted handsomely and waited.

* * *

This was not in the least bit safe. At all. Nicole averted her eyes from the imposing stares in the damp crowded alleyway in Chinatown. Sherlock had practically dragged her here after relentlessly calling for her to hurry up. He was such a child sometimes that it was almost impossible for her to imagine he was thirty-two. Many things about Sherlock surprised Nicole. He was brilliant at deducing from minute clues but completely oblivious to social norms. He would be helpful in the agency, where undercover persona was your identity. A careful eye to point out the flaws could save lives. He was attractive. As was the doctor. Both very differently but handsome nonetheless.

Pulling away from her subconscious, Sherlock grabbed her arm and started dragging her to another building. She took her arm back from his grasp and politely asked what was on his mind. He sneered at the question and didn't answer. He rapped against a rusted door between a seasoning and fish cart. Nicole hated fish and resisted the urge to plug her nose. Sherlock looked at her interested but soon lost focus of her when the door opened. A large Asian bodybuilder with immense muscles answered the door. Nicole looked calmly at the stranger and Sherlock, but on the inside, her instincts were on full alert. "Holy fuck, big boy." Sherlock was not in a good area and was in risk of injury. There was little room for exit and she could see the outline of two handguns in the pockets of the large man. The best course of action was to play it cool and react only if danger arises.

"I'm here to see Jí Diànjí." Sherlock said nonchalantly. Apparently he was unaware of the imminent danger he was in like an idiot. "Tell him that Jiā is requesting a favor"

Dear god this man was trying to get himself killed. Nicole silently searched for any weapon of use nearby. Pulling her gun out would take more time, louder, and be harder to explain. The fish stand to her right had a skinning knife that could be useful, but bullets were less forgiving against a knife. This guy was packing and they were in deep shit if a squirmish arouse.

The bodybuilder goliath of a man nodded his head and retreated behind the door. Nicole released a breath she didn't know she was holding. Sherlock turned to her. "You must remain calm and resist the urge to shoot anything that may cause a threat. These people don't appreciate gun wielding hooligans" he lectured the petite woman.

Nicole raised her eyebrow at him. "I'm an agent for the United States. I know how to handle my self in high risk situations." She smirked, "I think it is you who needs to proceed with caution."

"I agree that the environment is unsavory." He replied "but it is necessary to obtain all data at any cost."

Nicole sighed and waited for the door to open a second time. "Come in. The boss will see you now."

* * *

Yay new chapter! I know it's kinda slow right now but I have to build the character and all that crap :(. Stick with me!

Anyways, thank you to my new followers (Furied-Heart, TheGirlWhoImagined, caseylu, dulciwik, kimboik, love-lucas, wishful-thinkin, xoavdonahue), you guys help me remain motivated!

Remember to follow, favorite, and leave a review! Your feed back helps me!

~Posa


	5. Admiratio

As Nicole entered the building behind Sherlock, she noticed that the hallway only allowed entry and exit through this hallway and it was filled top to bottom in boxes containing food and odds and ends. The chance of escape was futile if danger arose. Sherlock was calm and assertive. He barely noticed the surrounding danger, but Nicole knew he was analyzing everything within sight.

Through the dark hallway was a smoke filled room with ornate paintings and silks decorating the walls. They looked priceless and extremely expensive. It was almost astonishing how a room so rich was in the slums. Upon pillows of maroon and gold sat a thin, sly looking middle-aged gentleman. His hair pulled back into a slick ponytail and his rectangular glasses perched upon his nose highlighted his intelligent slim eyes. His olive toned fingers were adorned with precious stones and his suit was dark and expensive. The man exuded luxury and finesse. Sherlock and Nicole half-bowed politely.

He drew a deep breath from the elaborate blue hookah beside him. "Ahhhh." He smiled as pomegranate smoke flowed out of his nose like a malicious dragon. "Jiā. It's been a long time my friend." His accent was thick with Mandarin tongue. He smiled a greeting and motioned for Nicole and Sherlock to sit on lavish navy pillows. Sherlock remained standing beside Nicole. Jí Diànjí frowned at the insolence but sighed. "All business it seems. How can I help you?" He drew another deep breathe of flavored tobacco.

"Jí Diànjí, I have come to inquire about a certain precious stone that has gone missing. Your expertise in the black market makes you a perfect candidate in knowledge of its whereabouts."

"What is it you seek my friend?" the smug Asian questioned.

"The Jaria Diamond."

Everyone standing in the room froze. Jí Diànjí let another cloud billow from his mouth before answering. "I know nothing of this Jaria Diamond. I am sorry my friend."

Nicole didn't believe him for two seconds and by the displeased look on Sherlock's face, he didn't either. She looked at Sherlock and the guards, by the aggressive look Sherlock was shooting at the black market trader, a problem was going to arise and Nicole was going to have to think quick. There were too many guards with large guns and bulk to fight off or kill. The room was too small for an escape and the hallway behind them had a large man guarding it with a stern face. Nicole was running out of options and guns ablazing was not one of them.

Of course, Sherlock craved the information locked away in the collectors head. "You're lying. You know where it is or someone who does. Tell me."

Survival at 30 percent right now. Nicole was straining for a solution.

"You dare defy me? I am powerful, Jiā, and you know it. I could kill you right now for your insolence." The man seated on the pillows raised his hand and his guardsmen put their hands on their weapons, situated to kill at order. "You white men think you are all powerful but you are in my realm, I rule here."

Nicole saw an opportunity and lunged at it. "wǒmen méiyǒu bù zūnzhòng." Nicole bowed low in front of the trader. Jí Diànjí stared stunned at the brunette. Sherlock too stood astonished. Nicole continued to talk and the trader finally grasped his dignity and bartered with the women.

Sherlock was at a total loss of words, which was a first for him. This agent knew Chinese? She showed not accent nor tongue placement of a bilingualist. He had assumed she was an English speaker solely. What other qualities does Ms. Nicole Miel have and hide? His curiosity and deduction itch burned through his body. He watched as this intelligent women before him bartered for their life. By the look of it, she was doing well as the trader smiled at her with affectionate eyes. The trader's eyes even dilated in attraction and Sherlock felt a slice of something course through his veins. That was odd. Spontaneous emotion was something he had conquered very young, but this was a different emotion altogether. He went to say something but she hushed him with one finger and a stern gaze and continued her conversation. Sherlock crossed his arms in front of him and pouted. "How dare she shush me." No one had quieted Sherlock since childhood.

After sometime, the conversation seemed to be at its close and the trader stood up. He took Nicole's hand and kissed it lightly. She giggled and turned her body towards the door and sauntered out. She called a stunned Sherlock from the hallway and he numbly followed her lead.

"Jiā," Jí Diànjí interrupted, "Watch after that women. She's smarter than she looks. Maybe even outsmart you." He smiled as he took a drag of smoke.

Sherlock nodded stiffly and walked towards the door

"What the HELL was that?" Sherlock gritted after he caught up to the American. It was not frequent that he felt confused and he hated it. This was the whole reason he developed his craft, bathed in it, lived in it. He especially hated how he was chasing her into the truth. He was supposed to have all the answers.

"What ever do you mean, Sherlock?" she said innocently. She grabbed her phone and placed a call. A voice on the other end answered sharply. "Yes, my name is Nicole. Jí Diànjí gave me your number. He believes you have answers for my inquires." The voice hesitated and then gave a location and time. " Six 'o clock? Okay." She hung up the phone and placed it in her pocket. She called a taxi on the main road. "Café Rouge" she called as she climbed in. Sherlock scowled and followed after her.

* * *

Nicole and Sherlock arrived at Café Rouge thirty minutes before six. She grabbed a table and ordered water over English coffee. Sherlock waved his hand at the waiter, dismissing him. He was impatient for information. He looked at her expectantly.

"Do you know what Jiā means Sherlock?" Nicole asked.

"It means home." He rolled his eyes, "What happened? What did you say?"

"Yes, it means home. He thinks your last name is Homes." She smiled coyly.

"Enough superfluous chatter. What are we doing here?" Sherlock fiercely protested.

"So impatient, Sherlock." The waiter handed her water and she smiled a thank you. She took a long draw of water as Sherlock sighed frustrated. "Fine. We are waiting for your informant. A man by the name Khūna. He knows about the black market in India to all Europe. He is your greatest bet on finding the holder and thief of the Jaria Diamond."

Sherlock's need was satiated, now only his curiosity stood unfulfilled. "Bilingual. Odd. I didn't see it in your face."

"Sherlock. I am an agent. Disguise is my livelihood. I have to hide every quality of myself that could tip off that I am an agent. Not many American citizens are adept at Mandarin or six other languages. It would give me away in five seconds." She took another drink of water. "I know Mandarin because they are the biggest importer along with Mexico. It is frequent that we have to escort ambassadors around and fluency in the language makes in much easier."

Sherlock leaned back in his chair waiting for the informant. He mulled over the new information on the agent in his flat. She kept evolving like a cell under a microscope. Her totality kept hidden. She was interesting, which was surprising to him. Nobody interested him, much less a woman, but she was not like the superficial women he was in daily contact with. She had depth and knowledge. She was an enigma.

Nicole sat humming to pass the time. The door of the café opened and a tall tan skinned man entered with a hood on. Nicole waved him down and made a spot for him. His brown guarded eyes analyzed them and Sherlock bequeathed the same honor on the guest. Khūna sat down slowly and pulled down his hood. "Nicole?" he asked in a strong voice.

"Yes and this is my friend Sherlock. We need any information about the Jaria diamond that went missing three days ago." Nicole stated. "Any information would be invaluable."

Khūna shifted his gaze from Sherlock to Nicole. "The Jaria diamond of India is prized. To my knowledge no one has put it on the market. You are not the first to ask for it. Many people are looking for it. Men from Africa and Asia are already placing bids on it. Thing is, its disappeared. Gone. It disappeared after the engagement party between the heir and his bride. There were hundreds of guests so the suspect is unknown."

Sherlock sat silently processing his data. Suddenly, his eyes brightened and he stood up. "I know who has it." He hurried out of the café with not so much as a good bye. Nicole stared after him and sighed.

"Sorry he's so rude. It's his nature." She smiled and shrugged at the confused Indian.

* * *

"John! Sherlock!" Nicole called up the stairs.

"It's only me." John answered from the kitchen. Nicole walked into the flat with plastic bags in each hand. The smell of Chinese filled the air. "Chinese." John smiled with glee.

"Of course!" she said laying the food on the table. "Where's you compadre?"

"He's not with you?" John asked unpacking the food.

"No. He ran out of the coffee shop in a tizzy."

"He does that." was the only answer he could give.

* * *

Nicole woke up to an odd metallic sound. It almost sounded like a sword. Who would have a sword in a flat in London? This wasn't the medieval age. She rolled over and just believed it was Sherlock's shenanigans. She went back to enjoying her blissful sleep. The metal clanging continued but this time a she listened harder. There were two separate footfalls. There was someone else in the house. Nicole's eyes flew open.

She grabbed the gun under her mattress and proceeded down the stairs towards the struggle. She saw Sherlock thrown into the couch and kicking a shawled man off. He stood up and straightened his suit before going after the man again. Why could he smart for two seconds and run? He was doing well in defending himself. She followed behind them silently, finding an opportune time to strike.

The shawled man had Sherlock pinned on the table and exposed his back. Nicole cocked her gun and the trespasser froze. "I suggest you let my friend go. Unless you would like to see your brain splattered about." The man turned around, letting Sherlock go. "Now, put down the sword." The intruder follows her instruction. "Good boy." She smirks. Sherlock then punches foreign man in the neck and he falls to the floor unconscious. She blinked. "That was unnecessary." She teased.

Sherlock shrugged his shoulder. "I'm taking this." Nicole smiled whilst holding the arched sword in her hand. "It's awesome!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes at her childish nature, and proceeded to drag the body down the stairs, his head thumping on every stair. "They know we don't have it, but they know we are onto them. I think this will send the message that we have no interest in the Jaria diamond. It's with the family anyways. The heir gave it to his bride. They're running away together. Romantic." He stood at the bottom of the step. "And Nicole." He called.

"Yah?" she inquired.

"Please put some clothes on." Nicole looked down at her braless chest and underwear and sheepishly grinned.

"Whoops!" Nicole smiled and hopped up the stairs to put away her new souvenir and put on proper clothing. This tussle had provided her with a much needed adrenaline boost. She felt invigorated. Too long has it been since she stared down the eyes of an enemy.

* * *

John entered the house with a rain cloud above him. Apparently he had gotten into a fight with the self-service machine at the grocery store. He and Sherlock bickered for a few minutes before Sherlock announced that they needed to go to the bank. Nicole sat on the couch and continued to read her book. She thought a run to the bank wouldn't involve a bodyguard; he was a big boy and proved it this morning.

Sherlock stood in the doorway tying his scarf around his neck. "Nicole." He pondered. She looked up from her book.

"Hmm?" she answered

His smirk almost turned into a smile. "Aren't you coming? Your companionship would be most helpful."

She smiled, grabbed her coat, and got ready for a new adventure with the infamous Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson.

* * *

Hello all! Here's a long one for you! This begins the adventures of our trio.

As always: follow, favorite, and review! I love them all and am so thankful!

I know this may be whoring myself out, but I would love to have at least a few more reviews before I post another chapter. I have it written up, but I want to know what I can fix, what you don't like, or what you do like. I am a first time writer so I have no idea what an audience thinks. I want to make it enjoyable and exciting for everyone.

For those who already review, keep on with your bad self! ;)

~ Posa


	6. Percepi

Hey everyone. Just a note.

I'm right in the middle of finals right now so it might be awhile before the next one is out. I'm not abandoning ship, just give me awhile to finish finals, pack, move, settle in my new apartment, and write. Thankfully this is going to be from the episode so I don't have to make up an extravagant story line!

Anyways, please review! I'd love to know what you think. You can even say "its good", "I like it". or "it sucks". All of these are valid responses. I'd like to know if this is enjoyable for anyone...

Thanks as always, Posa.

* * *

Chapter 5

A few months had passed since the fist adventure of the trio. Nicole had become fond of the two flat mates except when one in particular got in a mood. As often as that was, a case usually came around to save the day. She had met the rag-tag team of Scotland Yard and helped in their endeavors. Only Lestrade knew who she truly was, because it was dangerous for any officers to know. At this time she was an assistant to the consulting detective.

She was affectionate of Lestrade and his calm and quizzical nature. He almost reminded her of her father. Her perceptions of Dr. Anderson and Sargent Donovan, on the other hand, were not so favorable. She disliked Anderson the most of all. He was a self-centered buffoon that tried so very hard to undermine Sherlock. His intelligence was apparent but this motives and presentation was malicious. Sherlock's constant fame and glory just fed the raging fires that paralleled his ego.

Donovan was a different case. She pitied Sally. Nicole, of all people, knew what it was like to be a woman in a testosterone driven profession. She had to remain vigilant and intelligent in order to gain any respect. She had to be hard and angry to remain afloat in a job that surrounded her in condescending men that saw her as a walking pair of tits and ass. She conformed to the rest of her male counterparts against Sherlock because otherwise she would be cast aside as a weak woman again. Nicole had been there but gotten to the other side where she no longer gave a flying hoot what any of her colleagues thought. She was the best at her craft and having boobs sometimes sweetened the deal.

Nicole thought about her home. She wondered how her parents were. How her dog was. She missed them and it ruined her stay that she could not call them while undercover. Her parents were a main force in her life. They had a solid relationship and she had a very happy childhood. Unlike many agents, she actually had a family. Orphans were a normality in the agency. It's easier to fight when you have nothing to lose.

She also thought of last night. She hadn't gone out in awhile and last night was beautifully successful. She had gotten what she wanted and it was oh-so satisfying. The feel of flesh and blood made her heart race. The feeling of power. Those nights always kept her sane. The best part was no one had caught on yet. Not Sherlock. Not John. The secrecy of the adventure made it that more sensual.

As Nicole continued to fantasize about her next endeavor, a shot pierced through the flat of 221B. Nicole whipped off her bed; pistol in hand. She crept down the staircase and checked both sides of the stairs. She then slid by the door and searched the room. Sherlock was lying in one of the armchairs unmoving. There was a gun in his hand, and Nicole didn't know what to think. She didn't see any wounds from her vantage point. He then groaned and stared at her.

"Nicole, put the gun away. It is solely me, unwound by boredom." He said dramatically as he took aim at the wall again. Three more shots at the yellow smiley face on the wall.

Nicole lowered her gun and sighed frustrated. "What did the wall do to you?" she questioned venomously. "I thought there was someone in the house."

"Bored" was all Sherlock mustered in obvious pain. John entered the house and rushed up the stairs. His frantic face was written in concern.

"Don't worry. Pouty-pants over here is just bored." Nicole sighed as she landed on the couch. She reached for her book and began reading.

"So he took out on the wall?" John asked incredulously.

"The wall had it coming." Sherlock said smartly as he got up and fired more shots. Nicole remained unflinching and rolled her eyes. John grabbed the gun quickly and disarmed it. Sherlock went on pouting and crashed unto the couch, placing his feet in Nicole's lap. "I don't know what's gotten into the criminal classes. It's a job but I'm not one of them." Nicole moved his feet from on top of her and placed them under her legs.

"What about that Russian case?" inquired John.

"Belarus. Open and shut case. Domestic murder." Sherlock burrowed into the couch, "Not worth my time."

"Shame." John said on the way to the kitchen.

"Oh John! There's a…" Nicole tried to warn John but it was too late.

"A severed head?!" He shouted loudly. Nicole and Sherlock could hear him opening and closing the refrigerator door repeatedly as if trying to convince himself it wasn't there. "There's a head in the fridge!" He trampled into the living room and pointed at the cursed fridge. "WHY is there a head in the fridge?

"He's doing some experiment with human saliva coagulation after death, or something of that nature." Nicole answered for the annoyed detective. "I see you wrote up the taxi case." She said trying to change the subject

"The Pink Lady." Sherlock spat out.

"Well, you know," John shrugged into the armchair, "pink lady, pink case, pink phone… there was a lot of pink. Did you like it?" John said hopefully.

"No." was all Sherlock said

John looked disheartened at the sharp jab his flat mate had driven into his pride. Nicole was appalled by Sherlock's unpolished response. She had read the account and found it rapturing. John wrote eloquently but also included the quirks that all Sherlock's acquaintances related with. "I particularly loved, John." She gave a wink.

"He called me a sociopath on the internet!" Sherlock countered indignantly.

"Now hang on, I didn't mean it that way…" John tried to backtrack.

At this time, Nicole knew it was the moment where she permanently shut off her listening. Their bickering had been just white noise for two weeks now and she was beginning to enjoy the peace it brought. John would try to counter Sherlock and Sherlock then would use big words and explain it was his way or the highway. Also, explaining his "mind-palace" was a favorite. He reveled in the description of how he filed away information in a palace with many doors. As interested as Nicole was the first time, it had become a mind-numbing task to sit through another explanation.

Nicole could see that the argument was heated when Sherlock wrapped his robe around him tighter as though to protect himself or surround himself with the familiar. It was so odd how he mimicked someone Nicole had know so personally. The mannerisms were so similar it was scary. Nicole snapped out her memory-induced trance so see John leaving from the flat. He was clearly angry and in need of "fresh air".

"Now you've done it." Nicole said discreetly.

"Done what?" Sherlock said as he turned to her.

"Made him mad. He's just trying to impress you, Sherlock."

"Why would he need to impress me? I know his intelligence level. He is no mystery to me." Sherlock looked confused.

"Sherlock." Nicole sighed as she put down her book. "You impress him everyday with your natural genius. He must live everyday within the shadow of the all-seeing Sherlock. I know you are not as socially aware as some, but a man such as John, a military man at that, can only take so much emasculation before he snaps." She patted his leg as if sealing her point.

Sherlock tried to process what the woman had just said. To his logical mind, it made absolutely no sense. John knew what he was like. They had been living in the same flat for months. How could she see this social pattern so lucidly but for him, the concept was as clouded as blood? He grew frustrated with the confusion and fled to the window after walking over the coffee table like a Neanderthal. He watched John walk away from 221B wondering how he could avoid all these _feelings _in the future. All he needed was a case. Anything.

"Look at it out there." Nicole once again looked at him, "Calm, quiet, peaceful. Isn't it hateful?" Nicole laughed and continued her book. Sherlock turned around and sighed.

BOOM!

An explosion rocked the house as the windowpane glass flies into the living room. The wall itself ached to cave in from the pressure of the blast. Smoke filled the air and the room sprayed debris everywhere. The room was in complete shambles. 221B had turned into a war zone and the mangled corpse of the room took the brunt of the blow. Papers showered from the sky and dust soon followed.

First, Nicole noticed after the initial shock was the ringing in her ears. She was deaf at the moment, but there seemed to be no permanent damage. She could feel all her fingers and toes so that was a plus. Next she looked for Sherlock. She looked to where he was standing only moments ago and saw nothing. She looked to the floor and only found the large writing desk toppled. Urgency filled her as she looked for her client. Her flat mate. Her friend.


	7. Delecto

**Chapter Six**

Nicole scrambled to the center of the room where Sherlock was standing last. She tried to lift part of the desk that had fallen on him during the blast but couldn't find strength in her left arm. She looked to see a nice size shard of glass sticking out of the skin of her left shoulder. "Shit, shit, shit." The glass was hindering all movement in the muscle. There was probably tissue damage but a few stitches would heal it up. That's if she got it out of her shoulder immediately. She took a deep breath, gritted her teeth, and pulled it out with all her will. She grunted as it stung like a million needles. Flexing her hand and rotating her shoulder, she now had movement necessary in her left arm to lift the shattered writing table off of Sherlock.

Lifting the heavy desk up, Nicole pushed it off to the side causing dust to fly into her mouth and nose. She brushed all the debris off his body and uncovered his face. Placing her hand under the nook of his jawbone, she took vitals and prayed for a pulse. Calming her own heart and breathing, Nicole waited.

Thump.

A strong pulse beat against her fingers and she smiled in relief. Sherlock was alive for another day. He was just unconscious after the initial blast and hit of the desk. She checked his limbs and organs for any compound fractures or fatal gashes. His body had been miraculously preserved from the explosion, and no dire wounds were visible. She next checked his retinas, and they dilated beautifully.

After securing Sherlock's unconscious body, she reached for her phone that had flown towards the stairs. She stabilized her legs and grabbed it. Her hearing was back and the wails of distressed people filled the air. Before she dialed a number, she called down the stairs. "Ms. Hudson?" She waited for an answer.

"I'm alright." Her frail voice cut the tense air. "Just bloody scared. Nothings broken, I just may have a few bruises."

Nicole told her to remain calm and she dialed the only person that she could. A voice answered in two rings.

"Mr. Holmes," she told her boss, "he's in stable condition and appears unharmed. There's been a bombing on Baker Street."

* * *

Sherlock opened his eyes to chaos and destruction. The ceiling above was gray from the smoke that filed the room from the street, and his body felt oddly stiff. He tried to observe the room around him but only found confusion. Papers were littered around the room, and his life work was in shambles around the flat. Glass from the windows pricked his exposed skin.

To his right Nicole sat brushing his hair off his moist forehead whilst looking at the staircase. She looked calm for an individual that just witnessed an explosion, almost in a trance-like state. Her hazel eyes were dilated which gave the only signal of alertness. Her face was hard in concentration and relief. In her other hand held her phone. A newer model, and from the dust gathering on some of the keys, just recently dialed. The combination of numbers was familiar, and he sighed angrily.

"Mycroft mustn't get involved." He said looking up to her.

"He will just involve more bumbling idiots around to get in my way."

"Your brother cares for you, Sherlock. In his own way. He has a right to try to protect you." Nicole answered quietly. "He is only going to observe from afar. Don't worry. How do you feel?"

Sherlock grumbled and let his eyes wander. Nicole was dirty and her face was covered in dust. It strangely gave her a warrior's visage. Wood intertwined within her brown locks. The brunette strands fell framing her face making her features more feral. The vibrant greens within the hazel gleamed like emeralds. She looked like a serene war goddess amongst the destruction. The tattered blanket hanging from her shoulders was haphazardly thrown on. The way it was hanging emphasized right hand dominance, which was odd because Nicole was left-handed. He guided his fingers beneath the blanket and pushed it aside. Underneath Sherlock saw the crimson that soaked her shirt. He immediately sat up and began to strip off her t-shirt. Nicole resisted and protested she was fine. Sherlock began to battle against her more forcibly.

"Sherlock, stop!" Nicole stated firmly while grasping his hands. "I can take care of myself. It has stopped bleeding and I am fine. No major blood loss."

"I will make that prognosis myself." He said as he lifted the shirt over her head, exposing the tan skin underneath. His face stern with determination. The cut was large and deep but coagulated by her sports bra. The material had acted like gauze and soaked the blood while providing pressure, but would not last. "Take off your sports bra. The material will not be sufficient." He stood and hastened to the kitchen in search for towels. He could hear Nicole struggle with the pain as she took off her bra. Looking through the drawers he found dishtowels that would help stabilize the wound and grabbed water to clean it.

As he turned around, his heart leapt into his throat as Nicole stood in the doorway completely naked from the waist up. She stood unashamed and tall in the doorway; a true warrior goddess in flesh. The blood running down her chest, slid from under her round breast and followed the curve of her waist until it stopped at her feminine hip. It was so mesmerizing that he couldn't stop his eyes from tracing every contour. Her slender torso expanding with every breath she took. Her symmetry almost perfection. The arch of her breast and dip of her collarbone were so sensual that his analytical mind was in overdrive. His usually vaulted barbaric emotions were crashing through his armor and he was trying to remain true to his practice by remaining completely stoic.

He shook himself from his trance and ordered her to sit on the still upright table. Tight-lipped, he placed the towels against the wound with shaking hands and tried to stop the onset bleeding. He willed his eyes not to wander in fear of what inappropriate emotion he might find in the crevices of his mind.

* * *

John rushed up the stairs in a tizzy. "Sherlock, Nicole!" he shouted out of breath as he entered the room. "I just saw it on the telly. Are you alright?"

Sherlock sat across from his brother with the demon violin in his hand. Nicole was standing beside the kitchen arch at full attention. Her boss was there and a complying agent was what her role required at the moment.

"What?" Sherlock looked around and remembered the mess that was their flat. "Ah yes. Gas leak apparently."

John looked to the female agent "Nicole?"

"Fine, doctor." She nodded stiffly.

Sherlock looked at Mycroft. "I can't." He said as he thoughtfully plucked the strings of his violin. Sherlock despised when his brother meddled in his matters or forced tasks upon him. A lap dog he was not.

"Can't?" Mycroft twirled his umbrella in annoyance. His little brother would not listen and was as stubborn as always.

"The stuff I've got on is too big. I can't spare the time" Sherlock lied.

"Nevermind your usual trivia, this is of national importance"

Sherlock continued to strum his violin in frustration. "How's the diet?" He tried to change the subject.

"Fine." Mycroft stated exasperated. He persisted and turned to the doctor. "Perhaps you can get through to him, John."

John, who had been pacing through their dialogue, froze and looked up surprised. "What?"

"I'm afraid my brother can be very intransigent."

"If you're so keen, why don't you investigate it?" Sherlock rebutted. Mycroft stated that he couldn't leave the office for some political reason involving the Korean elections. He joyfully bragged whilst coyly revolving his umbrella in his hand.

"This case requires… legwork." Mycroft grimaced. Running around London seemed highly condescending to his title and thoroughly exhausting. He hired people for that.

Sherlock ignored his brother and looked to John who seemed to rubbing a kink out his neck. " How's Sarah, John? How was the lilo?"

"Sofa, Sherlock. It was the sofa." Mycroft corrected his brother while looking at the time. It was nearly time for his meeting.

"Oh yes, of course." Sherlock replied, harboring the anger from his brother's last sucker punch to his ego.

John stood incredulous and wide mouthed in the living room, gaping at the brothers. He finally just shook his head and sat down.

Mycroft made last comments of niceties to John and handed him the folder containing the case of Andrew West. An apparent suicide but with a twist. Missile plans. Mycroft gave his last goodbyes.

"Agent Miel. Do you mind a short chat downstairs?" Mycroft asked.

"Yes, sir." Nicole followed him down the staircase and out onto the chaotic Baker Street. Nicole tried to gauge her boss's emotion. She hadn't done anything wrong per say.

"Agent. I hired you to protect him from adversaries, not save him from impending death. Do I need to hire more people to help you with your job?"

"No, sir. I had the whole flat scanned. Am I now responsible for the entire street?" she boldly questioned. "I thought your men canvassed this street regularly"

"Yes, well, politically I have been a bit busy keeping World War Three at bay. Forgive me for not searching every flat in London." Mycroft scoffed.

"Sir, that was out of line, I'm sorry, but your expectations and the reality of my compass of protection are not similar. You must understand I deeply devoted to my assignment. I would give my life if the occasion arose." Nicole tried to reason with him. Let him see it from her side. She wasn't omnipotent.

Mycroft sighed and nodded. "What do you think of this?" he pointed with his umbrella at the destruction. "Gas leak or threat?"

"Gas leaks do not create that kind of explosion, sir." she looked Mycroft in his sky blue eyes, resembling Sherlock's own sapphires. "I would investigate further."

Mycroft sighed but knew the American was right. He paused and looked at the agent. "I'll have my people investigate. Keep him safe. He may be stubborn, but he's my brother." Nicole nodded as a black car pulled beside the caution tape and a lithe woman stepped out. Mycroft took one last look at her stated "Get that shoulder looked at." as he left the scene.

Nicole looked after the tall man and rubbed the weariness from her face. She hadn't slept. The explosion had stimulated the adrenaline coursing through her veins, but now that the excitement was over, her body ached for her soft bed. The morning was already upon them and the day had just begun.

She was about to walk back into the flat when Sherlock swung the door open quickly. He was dressed for the day and his eyes alight with excitement. From the look of it, he found a case. John trudged behind him, confused and bemused. Sherlock nearly ran to the end of the tape to hail a taxi. John stood beside Nicole and surveyed the mess around them. Nicole patted his back encouraging him to follow after Sherlock. John jogged after him and got into the taxi first. Sherlock slide a foot in the cab but turned to Nicole before he got in.

"Come, Nicole." he smirked, "this defenseless man needs his bodyguard." he chuckled and slide into the cab.

Nicole shook her head and laughed.

"What an ass."

* * *

There you go. I gave you a tiddle of fun.

I feel like I should explain. We never know what Sherlock thinks and he is a man after all. He has complete control of his appearance and physical countenance. On the inside, I feel like his impulses play out more fully. On top of this, she is a strong, very independent, and smart woman who has never made any advances on him. To see her completely unashamed and acting like she isn't bleeding, as well as potentially saving his life, there is a weakness at this moment. This is why it's all in Sherlock's mind. He doesn't act out. Much like Irene he plays it off coolly. Nicole has no idea whats going on.

~Posa


	8. Erravi

Chapter 8

Erravi

Sherlock strolled into Scotland Yard cheerier than he had been all week, which was odd for someone who's flat had been blown to shambles. His usually morose saunter was bouncier than typical in the prospect of a new case. His body and portrayal of movement was what Nicole used to gauge his actual emotions. It gave away the whole personality of Sherlock and was expressive when his face was not. This bouncing stride was the only indication of joy whilst his mouth sat in a firm line and his eyes stayed in a constant state of boredom. He had mastered the ways of face contortion at a young age to never reveal his emotions and fell back on his complacent mask while shivering inside with anticipation.

John on the other hand was lumbering on after Sherlock in a state of ever-continuing confusion. His house was in ruins, a new mysterious case, and the states of a tired Nicole and energized Sherlock was enough of an overload for the poor doctor. He did not even know how to feel himself. Should he feel sad about the condition of the house? Should he be happy about a new case distracting his frustrating roommate? Or should he be worried about the female agent that was obviously hiding something that jarred her movement? He didn't know. He solely went with the whirlwind that was Sherlock Holmes. He would figure all this confusion out later.

Lestrade met them at the elevator with a tired look in his eyes. He had heard about the bombing and he would be lying if he didn't say he had been worried. He would never dare tell any of the trio but he still stayed up part of the night listening to whether they had perished or survived the explosion on the police scanner. For as much of a pain in the ass Sherlock was, the inspector still felt something of partnership between them. The other two were delightful companions that usually evened out the harsh reality and insults that Sherlock was famous for.

Sherlock nodded to the inspector as he stepped out of the elevator. Lestrade cocked his head to follow and began to explain the circumstances. Something about this case rubbed Lestrade wrong. It felt like a trap but his curious nature meddled with his common sense. "You like the funny cases, don't you?" was all he could think to say. Sherlock's eyebrows met at the curious question. "The surprising ones" He continued clarifying. Sherlock only replied that of course he did. That was why he was here. Lestrade decided that sugaring the news would not make any less real and went for the kill. "That explosion."

"The gas leak, yes?" Sherlock countered. This was old news that happened ten hours ago. The young Holmes silently prayed this wasn't about some gas leak.

Nicole piped up from the back of the group. "It wasn't a gas leak." Lestrade stopped where he walked and all looked at the woman incredulously. "I know a gas leak when I see one" was all she answered shrugging.

"It was made to look like one." He continued. "Nothing left in the place but a strong box. A very strong box." Lestrade emphasized, pointing to a white rectangular paper package on his desk. "This was left in it."

Sherlock glanced at Lestrade quizzically. "It's addressed to you, isn't it?" John commented. Sherlock grasped the package and examined it.

"We x-rayed it. It's not booby-trapped." Lestrade muttered.

"How reassuring." Sherlock replied very sarcastically. Sherlock handed the package to Nicole to examine. With her line of work, she would be the first to sense a trap after himself, of course. Secondly, he trusted her judgment. After all, she was _his_ bodyguard. She lightly probed the package with deft hands and felt for any hard objects or wires dispersed about. This opponent was a bomb maker and a very adept one at that. This package could be a trap set for the intended target of Sherlock Holmes. After feeling around the rectangular object within white paper, she confirmed it was harmless.

Sherlock strolled to the desk lamp at the corner of the office. He bathed it under the yellow light and took in the picture it projected. The paper, writing, and feel gave a vague picture of the sender. The location, gender, intent. All on display for Sherlock to grasp. He flipped it a few times within his hands to take it all in as he explained his findings to his posse.

"Nice stationary. Bohemian."

"What?" Lestrade interrupted. Sherlock tensed in displeasure.

"From the Czech Republic. No fingerprints?" he inquired.

"No." Lestrade admitted.

Sherlock continued. "She used a fountain pen."

Nicole's ears perked at this. "She?" John exclaimed.

"Obviously." Sherlock remarked. He grabbed the letter opener lying next to the lamp. He sliced into the side carefully and seized what was inside, revealing a pink encased phone. Sherlock stared at it quizzically. This was the exact replica of the phone of that flamboyantly dressed woman murdered by the deranged taxi driver. One of the first cases he ever worked on with the doctor. A case that had him drugged and carted his across town unconscious. Sherlock would never regret that case because it was that fateful night that brought light to the usefulness of John Watson, which he appreciated to this day. Nicole hadn't even been present during this time, so this gift would impart no recognition for her.

"That's-" John stopped shocked.

"That's the pink phone." Nicole said out of recollection. She had read her friend's account of the case and knew that this phone held some meaning. It had to be.

"From the 'A Study in Pink'?" Lestrade said unamused.

"It obviously not the same phone." Sherlock stated ignoring the input, twirling it in his hands for any traces of the sender. "It's supposed to be-" Lestrade's words finally caught up to him. He paused and turned dubiously at the inspector. " 'A Study in Pink'? You read his blog?" he questioned angrily whilst pointing at the guilty looking doctor.

"Of course we read his blog!" Lestrade pointed to the whole office. "We all do. Do you really not know that the Earth goes around the sun?"

"Oh lord. Here we go." Nicole muttered as she sighed. She crossed her arms and leaned against the door frame to brace against the flurry of explanation from the young Holmes. Her shoulder sent a shock of pain down her arm as she winced it away.

Donavan snorted condescendingly and sneered at Sherlock. Nicole threw her a warning glare and dared her to continue. It was rude to listen in on conversations that didn't include you, not to mention joining in the arrogance. Sally's malicious grin faded and looked suddenly remorseful as she hurried out of the office. She didn't like the investigators assistant. A fellow female within her vicinity of overpowering males intimated her. Plus, this American looked like she would not think twice about making someone suffer. Unlike the freak and his blogger, Sally often opted to avoid her like the plague. She had self-preservation on mind.

Sherlock nodded to Nicole in thanks and she returned it with a knowing smile. He ignored the malevolent peanut gallery and reminded himself he didn't need them. He only needed his wit and his two supports. He turned back to the case at hand. Letting the phone twirl in his hand he examined it closer. "Someone has gone into a lot of trouble to make it look like the phone. Which means, your blog has a far wider readership." Sherlock gave accusatory fleeting look to John, as the doctor turned away sheepishly.

Sherlock turned on the phone and slid the screen to the home page. At the bottom right was a notification signaling a voicemail. Odd. He pushed the application and played the recording on speaker. "You have one new message" an automated voice played. Silence filled the office and then five beeps shrilled through the space.

As the last pip resounded in their eardrums, Nicole's private phone went off. She grabbed the vibrating phone and silenced it before the ring tone could continue. She excused herself and walked into the hallway away from the inquiring glances of the trio she left behind. The screen projected "Classified Number." Confused, she pressed talk and answered with a hello expecting Mr. Mycroft Holmes.

"_Il vient_." _It's coming_ a female whispered into the phone. It's sultry tone sparking Nicole's memory. This voice was from the past. Paris. She hadn't heard this particular voice in maybe five or six years ago. It was the distinct tone of a woman of shadows and aliases. The woman who had taught her everything and disappeared just as suddenly as she appeared.

"_Yarara_?" Nicole scrambled. Her mentor's voice didn't answer. "_Yara! S'il vous plaît! Répondez-moi_!" Nicole called for her. She pleaded for a response. She waited for what seemed an eternity with no reply. Her mentor's breathing was the only indication of life on the other end. Why was she calling after so many years of silence? A warning. But for what? Who? "Yara?" she beckoned a last time.

"_Être secure, Vesper_." Her teacher said cryptically at last before severing the line between the two. Yara used her code name at the time of her apprenticeship. An affectionate name between two women who could have been sisters. She had said to stay safe. She left no names or locations. Nothing. Just a warning. Who was in danger and what was coming? Nicole mulled over the explanation in her head and stood staring into the distance. Her trance-like stance garnering attention from the inspectors and policemen nearby. It was in this position that Sherlock grabbed her and forced her into the elevator without any warning or explanations.

* * *

Sherlock sat in cab with Nicole as they flew towards Baker Street again. Nicole was still twisting Yara's wording within her mind trying to find the hidden message. She couldn't help but feel this sense of foreboding. Her instincts clearly throwing red flags in the air that this was a trap. They were flying right into the mouth of a Venus flytrap, ensnared by the beauty of mystery. She didn't know how to convey her premonitions to Sherlock without him scoffing and calling her a prophetess scornfully. She knew he disapproved of her instincts when there was no logic behind it, but this time it just felt so real. Secondly, she was hurt and if danger was coming for Sherlock, she didn't know if she had the capacity to fight off an opponent. She would feel better if she had a replacement until she was one hundred percent better, but something deep within her chest despaired at the thought of separation. She bellied the feeling and let her rational side win.

"Sherlock." She broke the silence.

"Hm?" he replied as his own train of thought was interrupted.

"Something big is coming." She started. Sherlock looked at her curiously. "I have this feeling that everything is about to change. I don't know if it's for better or worse but my bets on the former." She looked into his blue eyes "I don't think I am suited at this moment to protect you. I have a gash in my shoulder and about half of my power behind my dominant arm. I think it would be best if we found a replacement just for the time be-"

"Nicole," he interrupted. "I have no doubt in your capabilities. In fact, I am confident that you are the only one capable to understand my methods and defend me in times such as these. I will not have Mycroft send another one of his lackeys to play bodyguard." He scoffed and turned to the window looking very melancholy. "Your notions of the future have no evidence, and so are merely speculation. We will tend to your wound but trudge on."

Nicole sighed at his childish nature and planned to reason with him. The resolute look in his eyes is what stopped her. "Fine, but the moment I think this is more than I can solely handle, I'm calling for back up. I will not have you die because you don't want someone new around." Sherlock gave her no response. "Do you understand?" she asked firmly.

He nodded shortly before turning back to the window. Sherlock did not like the idea of another idiot roaming his flat and suffocating him while an interesting new case lay in front of him like Dorothy's yellow brick road. He didn't like Nicole at first but she had proven herself a worthy companion in smarts, strength, and privacy. She was well versed in science and literature, and extremely strong for a woman of her stature, but the last trait was most important to him. She stayed just aloof enough to allow him to do as he pleased but present enough to feel a sense of protection he had never felt before. This American had done what no other female had done. Interested him yet remained detached enough to entice him. She was a new experience altogether. He glanced at her once more, soaking in her image. He didn't know why he did this, but something within his chest told him to. To remember her. Something completely illogical but necessary at the same time.

He shook his head of these thoughts and focused on what lay ahead. He had work to do.

* * *

Hello my little chickadees! I know it's been forever and I am deeply sorry! I have been writing up the next few chapters and they are a little tedious. I don't want to bore you with the details but it's taking forever. I hope all are well and I want to thank Frostivy, LiteratureCat, Elizabeth Bennett (btw love your icon. Thorin you rugged angry dwarf you.), and .Kittys for the reviews! I appreciate the input immensely!

AND tomorrows my birthday! YAY!

Once again, thank you to all the new followers and favorites! Keep reviewing and telling me what you think!

Love (in the strange internet way), Posa.


	9. Laqueum

Chapter Nine

Laqueum

Both of the black cabbies swerved to the curve at 221 Baker Street. Sherlock had informed Nicole of the situation at hand. Five Greenwich pips and a photo of a bare living room with a fireplace. The room had no visible distinctions or clues, and the Greenwich pips were an archaic message of warning. Altogether it wasn't much to pursue, but Sherlock was hot on the trail with the spirit of inquiry driving his adrenaline. That's what this was. The invisible sly fox planting little scents for the eager foxhound that Sherlock embodied. A twisted game of cat and mouse, but this time the mouse had sharp teeth and tricks. The cat could be predator but easily the prey.

Sherlock leaped from the cab and jogged to the front door without waiting for anyone. His concentration was solely on the task in hand. Lestrade and John rushed after Sherlock while Nicole paid for the cabs. When she entered after the boys, she found the trio surrounding the door to the basement flat that Nicole had never ventured to. It had been locked since she came to Baker Street and always remained that way. She never thought anything important would come from it, and now she was mentally kicking herself from not securing this area too. If anything were truly down there then she would only have herself to blame.

Sherlock looked at the door handle and lock to check for any evidence of use recently. Nothing seemed to indicate passage to the dingy basement, but he knew this was the location of the first clue to a wonderful new game. "Ms. Hudson!" he yelled into the adjacent flat.

The frail motherly woman peeked from behind her door and smiled. "What can I get you, dear?"

"Ms. Hudson, I need the keys to the downstairs flat. Immediately" He said quickly emphasizing the last word.

Flustered, Ms. Hudson scrambled back into her flat and ruffled through some of her drawers. Her face scrunched in confusion and anxiety. Nicole felt bad about the stress Sherlock put on the dear woman. She just wanted peace, quiet, and some normal tenants. Finally, she grabbed a nest of keys from the drawer and hurried back. "Haven't you already looked at the flat? Right before you moved in?" She had the bundle of keys with in her hands and held them tenderly before securing a single key to the flat.

Sherlock snatched the key from her hands, "Of course." He turned the key in the lock. "Has anybody been in it recently?"

Confusion once again bloomed on Ms Hudson's face. "No, and that's the only key." Sherlock unlocked the first lock. "I can never get anyone interested in this flat. Of course, that's the plight about basement flats." Ms. Hudson rambled on while Sherlock worked on the last lock. Once fully opened, he strode right in, leaving Ms. Hudson to continue with no one to listen.

Nicole, being the last to arrive, was the last to enter the flat. Before she stepped through the doorway, she placed a hand on Ms. Hudson shoulder. The landlady looked dejected at the blatant disregard for her musings. "I'm sorry, Ms. Hudson. They're on a big case and really stressed. It's nothing on your part." She gave a reassuring smile and stepped down into the musty basement.

Nicole arrived in the bottom flat and looked at the sneakers left in the center of the room. An appeasing trap waiting to be sprung. Sherlock's eyes gleamed with anticipation, but Nicole was on high alert. She could also see the unease in the inspector and doctor's faces. They knew it was a snare just like she did. A hook baited and waiting for a fish to bite. Sherlock began to circle the shoes to observe it. He wanted to take in what he could to find the clue he so desperately needed to find.

"Sherlock," Nicole warned, "remember he is a bomber. His M.O. is traps and explosions."

Sherlock nodded his recognition but continued to circle the white sneakers. He came to the side and crouched down to see closer. He still gave the sneakers a wide berth but allowed him to take in everything. The tension in the room was deafening. The two standing men glanced nervously at each other. Nicole hated moments like these. The uncertainty and lack of control drove her insane. All she wanted to do was cart all three men out of the flat and upstairs where she could keep them safe from harms way. Dread filled her mentally but physically she projected a calm confident aura, trying to instill a little ease into the air. She hoped to God it was working.

Sherlock continued to observe when a cell phone ring tone sliced through the silence. Sherlock stood up and whipped his gloves off to answer. From where Nicole was standing she could see that the pink phone said "Number Blocked" and for a split second Yara entered her mind. Was she contacting Sherlock? Did they know each other? Hope filled her but was soon dashed when the voice came through the speaker. This was another woman. An obviously frightened woman.

"Hello, sexy." A sobbing voice rang through the room. Everyone quizzically looked at each other. That was a greeting they weren't expecting.

"Who is this?" Sherlock answered.

"I've sent you a little puzzle just to say 'Hi'." her quivering voice continued.

"Who is speaking? Why are you crying?" Nicole rolled her eyes at Sherlock's brashness. This was a hostage situation now, and this woman was acting as a third-party to the delusional and insane game between Sherlock and his unknown adversary.

"I'm not crying." She gasped out, " I'm typing, and this stupid bitch is reading this out." The woman continued to sob on the end of the line.

Pensively, Sherlock remarked quietly that the curtain rises. John questioned what he meant but Sherlock would only remark that he knew this was coming. The woman continued.

"Twelve hours to solve my puzzle, Sherlock or I'm going to be so naughty." were the last words to come through the speaker before the line went dead. All four of the listeners remained in their places. Shock washed over most of them, with Sherlock excluded. It suddenly became real for them. Nicole knew something big was truly coming, and she didn't know if Sherlock could stop it or she could save him. Only time would reveal fate.

* * *

Sherlock, John, and Nicole arrived at St. Barts with the sneakers in tow. Lestrade had left to try to trace the call and find the victim. He gave a brisk nod the to the two boys and a meaningful look to Nicole that she could only translate it to "keep them safe". She nodded her understanding.

Sherlock was in a full swing of science, and completely ignoring his surroundings and everyone within them. He swept from table to table collecting and analyzing. Nicole, realizing that this would not be a rush job, pulled John aside. "John, I have a favor to ask and now would be the appropriate time to ask."

"Yes?" the doctor asked.

"Could you perhaps patch me up?" Nicole gave a sheepish smile and pulled down the collar of her shirt revealing the crude bandage job she and Sherlock achieved. They had done the best they could with the circumstances, but now it was time to stitch it up and sanitize it. All things that Nicole was not looking forward to. No matter how many shots and stitches she got, she still hated needles.

"Nicole!" John nearly shouted. " How long have you had this?!" the caring friend in John overrode the doctor and was clearly displeased with her hiding this wound and not seeing a professional immediately. He dragged her from the laboratory to the hospital upstairs.

"I got it during the explosion. It wasn't important at the time, but now that we have a lull for the first time since the bomb, so can you be a wonderful doctor and stitch up this idiotic wound?" She followed John through the busy and sterile smelling hallways. He seemed to know where he was going and took her to an empty room with one of those benches with the paper on it.

"It could have gotten infected!" he exclaimed angrily while throwing her a gown to cover herself in when he stitched her. "Or worse! You could have gotten staph! Did you even sterilize it?" he turned to her with a very serious look in his eye.

Once again, Nicole smiled and clasped a hand on his shoulder. "John, I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself. Plus this isn't the first cut I've ever gotten. Imagine this but in the rainforests of Ecuador. That's when you can yell at me." John gave her an exasperated look and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Now will you be a good friend and sew up this bad boy?"

John sighed and turned towards the door. "Put the gown over your torso and I'll come back in when you're ready."

"Thank you, John." She said slightly sing-songy.

* * *

Sherlock was intrigued. Very intrigued. This was the most exciting thing to happen since the taxi case of life and death, but even that did not compare to the fascination that was the devil's game he was trapped in. This screamed a brilliant mind, a virtuoso in crime. This was just what he wanted. A challenge wrapped in careful competition. If it weren't for his intense practice of morose body language, he would surely be smiling in glee.

The doctor and female counterpart had left thirty minutes earlier in a hurry and Sherlock had not even bothered to wonder why. He was actually pleased to have some peace and quiet while he did his work. If John were here, he would ask mindless questions, no doubt about the blubbering woman on the other side of the phone. He had no time to concentrate on her. She was just a pawn. The ticket for her freedom would be the shoes he was so carefully dissecting.

Nicole, on the other hand, he would not mind in the lab with him. She was usually aware when he needed silence. She didn't ask unnecessary questions or crowd him. She simply waited patiently for him to speak. She was also a superb listener. He would often bounce ideas and theories to her, and she would help when needed but usually kept to herself. Her knowledge of science and biology was basic compared to his intellect but she knew more than the average human. Odd for an agent. He could understand the necessity of anatomy and physiology in the field, but gene structure and disease replication seemed above the pay grade of a federal agent. It bothered Sherlock that he knew so little about the woman living in their flat and protecting their lives. He was usually prompt in figuring someone completely.

He turned his attention back to the shoes. He was running particle analysis on dirt found in the treads of the bottom of the sneakers when said companions returned smelling very sterile. Each held a cup of something steaming in their hand, of which Nicole had two. She quietly circled around the table and placed one far enough from the microscope but easy enough for him to reach. It scent wafting from the cup was Lapsang Souchong. His favorite. How she knew so much about him worried him. Was he becoming readable? This puzzlement shifted slowly into a need to distance himself from her.

"I don't drink-" he started.

"I know, you don't drink or eat when on the case, but I know this is your favorite." She circled back around the table and took a seat in the corner. "Drink it. It is a caffeine alternative that will increase brain activity and act as a stimulant. You haven't slept since two nights ago, and the capabilities of the brain decrease without fuel." Sherlock tossed her a look over his microscope. "Just do it." she sighed.

He sighed scornfully and took a sip of the smoky flavored tea. It was almost as good as the real cigarette that he craved for dearly right now. He knew that she was right but it didn't mean he had to like it.

* * *

(A/N): Hello my loves. So I know it's been awhile but I promise more will come sooner. This was easier to write than the others so I am hoping that it's promising fast updates. The only impasse I am currently juggling is whether to do all the tests. I feel it would be a lot of filler, but also kinda important for the story. I know many of you are like "screw it! Get to the meat and potatoes!"but I would like to be sure. So if you could tell me that would be wonderful! You can PM or review. If you don't then I will write the whole entire thing in painstaking detail that will make you want to to tear you eyes out. But alas, thank you for everything! Special thank you to KijoKuroi and two guests for reviewing! I love you all!

Remember to favorite and follow... or don't. it's a free world. I can't make you.

~Posa


	10. Anguis

**Anguis**

An hour had passed since the trio had arrived at St. Barts. Sherlock had switched from the pristine sneakers to the microscope countless times trying to see what he had not so far. As thrilling as this case was, the endless waiting for technology was infuriating. Not to mention the incessant pacing of the doctor. As usual, his nervous manner was exceedingly annoying and unhelpful. He was undoubtedly thinking about the woman in the car. He was sympathetic in that way.

Nicole sat in her corner quietly. Sherlock was wondering what she was thinking. The silent female was staring at him but not truly seeing him. She was in deep thought and Sherlock would give anything to know what it was. He craved to know something about her that was true, just so he could grasp a foothold to peel apart the falsities and disguise and deduce who she truly was. All he could imply was the regular day-to-day emotions that an idiot could infer. She looked weary which was unusual for the usually calm and content agent. He was used to her attentiveness. This sudden change in demeanor was foreign to the detective and hampering his concentration. He really needed to get a hold of this conscience of his.

John, on the other hand, was in turmoil. He was worried and for good reason. Nicole, their government-issued protector, was hurt, a criminal was toying with his flatmate, and a woman was sitting somewhere with explosives strapped to her. Everyone in the room was unbearably calm and he was wondering why he was the only one freaking out. Was there something he didn't know or was he the only sane, normal person in the lab? He looked to Sherlock first. Forty-eight hours awake and he remained restless. How the man functioned, Watson would only dream to know. Thankfully, Nicole had been able to coax him into drinking some sort of smelly beverage. A miracle in itself.

Speaking of the agent, John looked to the only female in the room. She looked like she had been dragged through hell and back. All the hours that seemed the leave Sherlock unaffected, weighed on Nicole. She had bags under her eyes and her frame slouched against the wall. John specifically looked at her eyes. The hazel seemed dull and in a trance. John didn't think she would hold on much longer. He lightly stepped in her direction and stood next to her. She gave no indication of his change in proximity.

"Nicole?" the doctor tried to softy break her daze. Sherlock looked at them both, surveying the moment. He was interested in the agent's reaction as well. Nicole remained motionless, her conscience not returning. Watson placed a gentle hand on her back and called out to her again. This time she snapped back to reality and looked to the doctor.

She smiled and only remarked "I look like hell, don't I?"

John didn't want to offend her but still shrugged with a small grin. She laughed shortly and began to stretch her aching back. Movements that Sherlock caught himself watching. Her extended limbs and torso showed that she was flexible, and her actions were fluid. Maybe she was a dancer before she was made into a machine of deception and disguise? If only she would let him know or indicate some emotion of surprise that would pinpoint the truth. This woman was infuriating with her mystery. Sherlock shook his head from these frivolous thoughts and turned back to his microscope where the true excitement lay.

Nicole rubbed her neck and felt her body slowly unwinding to the pressure of sleep deprivation. If there was one thing in the world that she loved more than anything else, it was sleep. Forty-eight plus hours was way too long in her book, but her boys needed her and she sure as hell wasn't going to leave them to sleep. All she needed was coffee. Something warm and caffeinated. Maybe even an espresso shot. She had gotten some caffeinated tea from the lounge but it wasn't holding her over. She was new to tea ever since the boys urged her to try it. John had been particularly persistent in the endeavor. He would make solely tea in the morning and hide the coffee grounds, leaving her to search the whole apartment despairingly before settling for tea. Sherlock even joined in the game. Nicole believed it was because he liked to see her suffer. It was fun for everyone until around day three without coffee and Nicole was going through withdraws. The men had never experienced true murderous intent before, but they sure learned what pain a wrathful uncaffeinated American could impart. Sherlock, understanding the symptoms of withdraw personally, soon decided easing the very angry woman into British traditions with daily teatimes.

Nicole tried almost every kind of tea until Sherlock found that she enjoyed citrus blends and stocked up the cupboard with every kind one could imagine. She was as surprised as John in his sudden interest to adapt her the English living. Nicole just took it as a sign he was accepting her, because she knew he was sparse with conversations in emotions. Soon, they were having tea everyday and the trio found comfort in the domestic aspect of it. Nicole and John would talk about politics and current events; John and Sherlock would talk about the doctor's blog and cases; Nicole and Sherlock would talk about science and investigation techniques. It was during teatime that Nicole wasn't their bodyguard, Sherlock wasn't a genius, and John wasn't an ex-military doctor. During these times they were friends bound by the sheer comfort of company.

Nicole smiled at the memories and rose from her chair. She tried to rub the weariness from her eyes and made her way to the door.

"Where are you going?" John asked concerned.

"I'm going to Carluccio's down the street for some coffee. I might even get something stronger." She smiled to John and pulled her hair into a ponytail. "Would you like anything?"

"Nah, thank you." He replied.

"Okay." She pushed the door open. "Can you hold down the fort while I'm gone and make sure trouble maker doesn't kill himself?" she nodded toward Sherlock.

Sherlock glared at her over the microscope eyepieces and returned to his work. "Ya. I can." John chuckled.

"Thanks. Oh and Sherlock. I'll pick up something to eat." Nicole smirked and headed out the door.

Sherlock scoffed in annoyance and yelled "I don't eat when-"

"Don't care" was all that came back as the door swung shut behind her. John chuckled at the comical scene and remarked that it was never boring with these two. He was entitled to endless hours of hilarity after everything he went through before Sherlock. He was going to make the most of it while it lasted.

* * *

Nicole walked back through the halls of St. Barts Hospital with a coffee in one hand and a croissant in the other. She was beginning to wake up slowly after the espresso she had at the café down the street, but felt that doubling up on coffee, although not the healthiest idea, would keep her awake for the rest of this twisted trial of wits her clients were trapped in. Nicole was nervous. She had never been against an invisible adversary in all her seven years in the agency. Whenever she was sent on a mission, she had a target or a clear group that wanted the other dead. It was simple and easy, not to mention way less stressful than whatever this was. The worst part was that she didn't know what other side wanted. Sherlock? Money? Just pure destruction? There was no motive in this trial. They were puppets and he or she was making them dance.

Nicole knew that her prime objective was to protect the youngest Holmes and the kind doctor, but she couldn't help but get caught up in all the excitement in their lives. It was invigorating to work a case that was mentally simulating as well as enjoyable. She would often have to scold herself not to delve into a case file her client had and solve the puzzle herself. She had made a mistake during the Jaria diamond by getting involved. She got caught up in her own adrenaline and taken the lead on a mystery not her own. These puzzles were distractions to her true task. Giving into temptation was the one thing they taught you to resist in the academy. A core principal that forty percent failed and they ended up fired, injured, or dead. She was not going to be a statistic.

Nicole had found a way to get the second hand high though. She frequently sat in on Sherlock's brain storming and experimentation sessions. She listened in on all the details whilst remaining completely impartial to the case. He used her as a soundboard to bounce ideas that rattled around his brain, and she remained silent unless asked. She liked to think he was fond of it, seeing that he called upon her more than John and actually asked for her opinion without condescension. Although her occupation within the agency would never allow her a normal life, she could see herself living with the two men, solving crimes and remaining friends. She sighed knowing that it would never happen. After whatever was currently happening, she would likely be shipped back to America to a new mission and a new target. It was only a fool's hope that she could ever live a civilian life.

She rounded the corner to the entrance of the lab and pushed it open to reveal there was more than just Sherlock and John in the lab. The first person Nicole zoned in on was Molly by the brilliance of her red hair. Molly had been an interesting person to meet and Nicole had a soft spot in her heart for the love-struck female. Her adoration for Sherlock was so immense and visible that Nicole was pretty sure that everyone in Bart's and Scotland Yard knew about it. The poor girl was infatuated with the idea and visage of the consulting detective and tried so hard to leave little hints and clues to signal her attraction. Clues that Sherlock had seen but ignored completely. He even took to insulting her to get her to leave. Nicole couldn't help but give him a sharp look after every time, but after the fifth event of Molly's regression and retry, Nicole boiled it down that she was a glutton for punishment. She knew better than most you don't choose whom you love.

The second person though, is the one that made Nicole stop in her place. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up and her heart rate dropped in deadly attention. The man that looked at her curiously was short compared to Sherlock's looming figure but slightly taller than John. The dark features on his alabaster skin made him look ghastly, and his eyes held the intent of a hidden cobra about to strike. They were ringed to show an infrequent sleeper, which made Nicole even more leery. Those who don't sleep can never be up to any good. His fake façade exuded nervousness but Nicole could see beyond the disguise to the dangerous, confident, and most important, powerful man inside. One sweep of him and she was alert. By the look of Sherlock and John, they did not feel the same she did. Nicole cursed Sherlock on his inability to listen to his instincts and wondered if the doctor felt her anxiety as clearly as a military man should.

Molly, finding the silence unnerving, addressed Nicole. "Nicky, this is Jim." Nicole's eye twitched at 'Nicky', she despised that nickname. " He's my boyfriend!" she continued cheerfully.

Nicole plastered a cheery smile on her face "Pleasure. Nicole." She turned to Sherlock and John. "I bought a croissant. Please eat it." She was trying to act normal.

Sherlock frowned at the bag she left on the counter. "Give it to Molly. She's already gained three pounds, what another?"

Nicole gave him a glare as Molly's merry face fell. "Eat it, Sherlock or so help me, I will force it down that snide mouth of yours." Sherlock exhaled unhappily and reached for the bag. Nicole could feel the calculating gaze of the unwelcome newcomer on her skin but refused to acknowledge it.

'Jim' finally made an excuse to go and went over the last of their nightly plans with Molly. He turned around and said a last goodbye to the detective. Sherlock ignored it by looking through his microscope and eating the croissant. John, trying to make up for the rudeness of his flat mate, said good-bye for Sherlock. Jim looked back from the doctor to young Holmes with a curious expression before leaving.

Nicole felt that she had a lead. She didn't know whether to tell the boys or keep this a secret. She could be wrong, which was rare but did happen, but also she could protect them if this was their new adversary. If Sherlock knew, he would be like a scent dog unable to give up the chase. He would put himself right in the line of fire to quench his inquiring thirst. He could get hurt or worse. A dead Sherlock is not what she needed.

It was decided, she would pursue this alone. Nicole waited five minutes through the bickering of John, Sherlock, and Molly before leaving the boys. She would make sure to leave surveillance on them, but this time she was handling this.

* * *

Hello my chickadees! SOOO i officially have over 40 followers and I'm running around screaming currently because I'm so thankful! Each of you are the reason I continue to write! Thank you! Thank you!

Also, thank you JBuzz for the review!

As always! Rate, Follow, PM, and Review! I love you all!

~Posa


	11. Capere

Capere

Two hours had passed since Nicole started following Jim from IT on a whim and all that she could say was that he is frightfully boring. Nicole almost fell asleep twice as he stared at a picture of a swimming pool and a Monet painting. How this could be important? She had no idea. Sitting in a dark corner hidden by her large black coat and long dark hair, she watched his every move. Jim never even sensed that she was following him and acted as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Beginning to doubt herself, Nicole almost felt silly about calling Mycroft earlier.

While she headed up to the IT office after Molly's beau, she called Mycroft on his private line. His secretary answered sweetly and once again Nicole wondered why she was working for the dull elder Holmes. Anthea was considered the best of the best but working for Mycroft Holmes seemed displaced.

Wiping that from her mind, she asked to speak with Mycroft on a secure line. Classical music flowed through the earpiece when she was put on hold. Nicole rolled her eyes at the sheer British feel even a phone call felt like. It took longer than usual for him to answer but when listening, he seemed attentive unlike the standard aloofness. The female agent quickly explained that she was following a possible lead on the Baker Street bomber and asked for surveillance on Sherlock and John for safety.

Confused, Mycroft asked "Why are you following him? I have agents of the British force that can complete a simple observation. Stay with Sherlock. That is what I hired you for."

Nicole audibly sighed as started to explain her motive. "Sir, no offense, but I don't want someone who is going to half-ass this. I know what I am doing and all I ask is for you to trust me. If this is the guy then we can eliminate the problem at the root."

Mycroft grumbled softly and finally allowed her to continue her chase. She smiled at her little victory and thanked him. He gave a short reply and the other line went dead.

Massaging the sleep from her eyes, she waited. The pale male began to stretch and rose from the chair, and Nicole silently thanked the heavens for the much-needed reprieve of monotony. Jim grabbed his coat from the tall wooden hanger in the corner and headed out the door leisurely. Nicole waited a minute before following him onto the street.

While following him through the busy streets of London, she studied his mannerisms and gait. The Jim from IT suddenly dissipated into thin air the farther he waltzed from St. Bart's. His back straightened and his shoulder laid straight with his head held high. There was a nonchalant demeanor that overcame the fake façade of nervous gay Jim from IT. He fiddled around in his jacket pocket for his phone and looked through some text messages while grinning manically. Nicole's suspicions grew exponentially, and so did her joy. She wasn't broken. Her instincts were stronger than she imagined. Giving herself a mental highest of fives, she continued.

Jim walked about six blocks from St. Bart's before turning into an apartment. The apartment was luxurious and ornate. The columns adjacent to the doors were the richest of quality of swirling white marble and the door was a dark mahogany. The windows had gold painted into the swirling molding and enormous Spanish curtains hung in the windows. Even the knocker was extravagant. The gold ring was large and a coy snake wound its way around it to perch its head at the top of the loop. It's neck poised to either strike or scurry. Now Nicole wasn't from England but she doubted that tech managers made enough money to even look at this monstrosity. No, this was the work of someone who made a lot of money illegally. Mexican drug cartel leaders projected the same visage with their greed.

Scanning the front of the house, she saw four secure windows and a double bolted front door. Six cameras were hidden into the intricate molding around the edges of the house and portico. Infrared by the model look and poised in every direction. There were no drain pipes or ways around the large apartment without being seen. Where Bakers Street 221B was an assassin's wet dream, this monstrosity was their nightmare. Nicole was going to have to wait and see if Jim -if that was truly his name- to leave and continue to follow him.

She sat down at a café about half a block away and angled herself away from the door. She grabbed her bag and pulled a sliver compact from her bag and opened it to see her reflection. John was right. She did look like hell. This gave her an opportunity to lower her risk of recognition and well as give her an activity to busy herself with. Pulling a small aqua blue bag from the bottom of her black canvas bag, she grasped the make up within the small pouch. Nicole rarely wore make-up but the mirror provided a great way to watch the door without looking suspicious. She simply looked like a young woman who forgot to put her face on this morning.

Placing the compact on the table, she set herself to work. She evened her skin tone, bronzed the angular lines of her face and lined her eyes with dark kohl. As each tasked finished, she glanced at the door to see if the was any change. Jim had not come out of his hiding (as much as a monster of a house was hiding) to continue her chase. As she lastly swiped the mascara on her lashes, she saw a movement from the great white apartment. Jim from IT stepped out in a suit of charcoal grey and a deep azure tie. He looking stunning, even majestic, compared to the mask he wore around St. Barts. Nicole caught herself staring at the revamped target. Such a transformation was incredible that she hardly believed it was him.

Jim looked both ways from his portico as if to look over his empire with a grin on his face. Pulling on a long black coat, he glided down the stairs gracefully and went on his merry way. The American quickly threw everything into her bag and pursued the well-dressed man. The night had already begun to descend and it was beginning to become dark quickly. Nicole smiled. Dark made it easier to become a shadow to the one she hunted. She followed him for several blocks while he played with his phone. Several noises came from the device signaling different senders. Maybe even different clients. The more she trailed the young man the more he fit her profile. She was waiting for his one big mistake or piece of evidence before she called for a tactical team and took him down.

She followed him to the Fox where he said he was going to meet Molly earlier and saw the lustrous red hair of said female. Jim automatically slipped back into the nervous man from IT and the transformation once again took Nicole by surprise. If he wasn't a criminal like Nicole thought he was, he could have made a prosperous career in acting. He was so fluid with his changes that it seemed effortless. In fact, the agent was a little jealous.

Jim from IT stumbled to Molly and awkwardly tapped her shoulder. She whirled around with such a fire in her eyes that even the actor wheeled back in surprise. Molly's fair face was scarlet with rage and embarrassment. She was humiliated by Sherlock, John, and the root of her problem, him. She screamed at him. People stepped back surprised from the quarrelling couple. Nicole was actually proud of Molly, she had seen nothing but a timid woman and this ferocity nearly made the secret agent scared. Maybe after this was done, she could take Molly under her wing. Give the poor girl some confidence.

This one-sided shout went on for about six minutes before she huffed and stomped away. Everyone included Jim stared wide-eyed after her before returning to his or her activities. Jim cocked his head to the side and just shook his head a chuckled before continuing down the street. Nicole followed his on the other side of the street until he walked into a luxurious restaurant. The cuisine was obviously fine dining for the rich and famous and the waiters all mysteriously French. She waited to be seated.

"Do you have a reservation?" the man at the desk asked. His nose raised to her black pantsuit.

_Hey at least I put on make-up alright, Mr. Fancypants? _Nicole grinned at the tall man and replied with a polite no.

The man pulled a snide smirk and countered "You must have a reservation to dine in this establishment. That is, if you could afford it." He gave her a catty look before turning away.

Nicole cocked her eyebrow, thought fast, and simply stated. "I hope my boss Mycroft Holmes doesn't mind that I couldn't sample this restaurant for his patronage." The black haired male spun around quickly with a shocked face. "Oh well!" she quickly turned on her heel to leave.

The tall man scrambled after her. "Madam, madam. You do not mean _the _Mycroft Holmes, of course."

She looked at him from the corner of her eye with an arrogant smirk. "Who else could it be? But I see that our money is not needed here." She started to continue before two hands gracefully cupped her arms and the man stopped her.

"Nonsense!" He chided and flamboyantly flailed his hand. "We would always enjoy the patronage of the government! It would be our pleasure! Let me personally lead you to your seat."

"Why, thank you." She said coyly.

* * *

Nicole could hardly believe her luck. She was seated on the second floor balcony above the table of her target. She could see clearly what was on his phone. The screen showed texts and emails. She was nearly giddy with excitement and good fortune. She continued to watch him. He ordered a red wine and a banquet of food. The meat, potatoes, greens, and bread could feed four. How thin Jim was going to pack it away was a mystery to her.

She ordered water herself and ordered a small meal of chicken- something that wasn't hundreds of pounds. It arrived but she barely touched it. She was watching his every move.

Suddenly, something of interest lit Jim's screen. It was Sherlock's website _The Science of Deduction. _Something was written in bright white. Something about sneakers and a boy named Carl Powers. Odd. Jim's face glowed with joy. She could feel the excitement roll off his body in waves. He quickly began typing a new message to a random phone number. The message said:

_Well done, you. Come and get me ;)_

Nicole was confused. Come and get me? Another text came in quickly after.

_Sherlock figured that out quickly. How about a real challenge?_

_-I_

Jim smirked, put his phone away, and began eating. Nicole had enough proof, time to warn the boys and call Mycroft. She stepped away from the table and quickly strode to the restrooms. She first placed a call to Sherlock. He answered on the second ring excitedly.

"Nicole. I've figured it out! It was so obvious!" he began to ramble.

"Sherlock!" she interrupted. He quieted. "Sherlock, please. Listen to me I have something important to say."

"Yes, where have you been? You missed my great revelation. Botulinum toxin in eczema cream! Nearly untraceable in an autopsy." He was giddy and Nicole hated to bring down his high but this was a dire situation.

"That's nice, Sherlock but you're in dang-"

Sherlock interjected impatiently, "Lestrade's here. Were going to get the woman in the car. Ill call you later when someone's stopped being deliciously interesting." The phone line went dead.

Nicole stared at her phone incredulously. He didn't even listen to her. She had vital information and he played her of as someone unimportant. All she was doing for him and he was still an ungrateful child. She simmered her anger and called Mycroft. _At least he would be reliable. _she though spitefully. The ringing continued. And continued. Finally, a voice flowed from the earpiece.

"Thank you for calling the office of Mycroft Holmes. Unfortunately, we are not able to answer the phone. Feel free to leave a message and we will reply shortly. Thank you and have a lovely day."

Dread covered Nicole from head to toe. An answering machine. All the people she needed to warn were not replying. She was alone. Maybe she could call Lestrade to help but he was too busy helping the woman with a bomb strapped to her chest. It wouldn't matter if she were looking at the bomber right in the face. The only thing she could do is get out of there fast without getting caught. She grabbed her belongs and headed out the door.

As soon as she stepped out of the restroom she stopped. The restaurant was completely empty. The bustling atmosphere was gone and an eerie silence filed the room. The tables had food and drinks still on the tables like everyone had evaporated into thin air. She was in trouble. She hurried through the rows of tables to the front entrance before a whistle stopped her short. She turned to her right and there stood Jim in his suit. She was caught. Never in her seven years had she ever been caught. She didn't even try to wipe the startled look from her face.

"What's the matter _Nicky_? Didn't think you'd get caught?" he smirked reading her mind. "I have eyes everywhere. I know everything that happens in my city." He said as he began to circle her like a hawk. The brown of his eyes smoldered like a fire that would eat her whole. "You see, I like Sherlock. I also like puzzles. Were practically the complete opposites except in wit. But you see he's made a mistake. He's let people near him. He _cares_ for them. Like you, the American agent flown over to protect him. He respects you." He tutted the air around her and came to a stop in front of her. "I was going to let you live but now you're in my way and apparently valuable, so now you're coming with me."

Nicole held her ground. "What makes you think I'm going with you?"

Jim smirked and clasped his hands in front of him. "Darling, you don't have a choice."

A firm hand grasped her forehead from behind and covered her mouth and nose with a rag. The musty smell of chloroform filled her nostrils and mouth. Panic and adrenaline coursed through her veins as she slammed her elbow into the person holding her. They let go and fell back with a grunt. Her phone fell to the red-carpeted floor.

Jim sauntered toward her and grasped her chin with a wild grin. "Give in. Now you're mine."

The chloroform kicked in and the world began to spin. She grasped at the tables, chairs, anything to remain standing. She peered to the floor to try to steady herself. Her phone's screen lit up with a message from Mycroft. A simple

_Yes?_

_ -M_

Her body was getting heavier and soon the floor began to rise to meet her. All went black before she hit the ground.


End file.
